A Matter of Trust

I have two beautiful, smart, funny children.  They have changed my entire world in good and not so good ways, but I can’t imagine my life without them.  For me, it was the right choice to leave my corporate job so I could give myself over to raising my kids full time. 

I take the job - which, by the way, is the hardest job I have ever had in my entire life - of raising my two small people very seriously.  I may laugh, joke and tease along the way, but that’s the only way I know how to release tension and dissipate my stress because truth be told, I have no idea what I’m doing.  No one hands you an instruction manual in the delivery room nor does anyone provide you with a fail proof, step-by-step instruction booklet on how to raise a well-adjusted, happy child with a follow up pamphlet illustrating how to mold and form the perfect adult.  It’s all guesswork.  You do the best you can and trust that you’re doing the right thing by your children.

Trust. 

Trust is a funny thing.  You trust your gut.  You might even trust your instincts.  You put your trust in other people and in yourself.  Some people have trust issues, mostly deeply rooted in past experiences.  Life is complicated and while some people at my age complain about their “baggage,” I, at the ripe old age of 42, have lived long enough to have accumulated a complete set of personalized luggage. 

Having Wassachusetts in my life has been a learning experience in so many ways that I can’t exclude how he has taught me to trust.

Thinking about what we ask of our horses and what these animals are willing to do for us is nothing short of awe inspiring.  We trot, canter and sometimes gallop our horses towards obstacles assuming that they will leap high enough and with such balance as to clear said obstacle and carry the rider safely to the other side.  It’s really quite unnatural.  In the wild, they might be forced to jump a downed tree or hop across a creek, but more often than not, your horse is going to look for a way around an obstacle.

Yet, here is Wassachusetts.  He’s always game for something new even if that means leaping over an odd configuration of painted poles and flower boxes spilling over with dusty, Dollar Store flowers. 

Turning on the forehand or haunches can’t be comfortable for a horse or feel “right” but he does it – or at least tries.  He always tries.

A year ago, Wassachusetts and I had trouble getting over a jump lined with fake poinsettias in foil-encased pots.  The foil made a horrendous noise as the horse approached the jump, spraying grit onto the foil.  I couldn’t blame him for stopping and I certainly couldn’t blame him for wildly leaping over the jump from a standstill with such force that we cleared that jump with what felt like three feet to spare and throwing himself into hyper-drive on the other side in a concentrated effort to escape the dangers lurking in, under and around that jump.

While I couldn’t blame him for reacting the way he did, I also couldn’t help the way I became defensive and nervous the next time we came around to that jump. 

“You have to trust him,” my trainer advised.

And she was right.  I had to trust him the way that Wassachusetts was willing to trust me.   While it wasn’t pretty, we managed to get over that jump the next time we came around to it.  That horse, all 1200 pounds of him, trusted that I wouldn’t steer him wrong or put him in any type of perilous situation.  Wassachusetts also has a lot of self-confidence.  The combination of that trust and self-confidence has taken us a long way. 

Wassachusetts has so much faith in himself – he’s a very brave horse and very rarely spooks away from objects or sounds – that I’ve learned to trust him.  And with that trusting relationship has come a burst of self-confidence for me.  I no longer question my riding ability or get nervous when my trainer puts the jumps up.  It’s a great feeling.

I carry this new-found trust and confidence in myself forward from my life with horses to my life as a mom.  I trust that I’m raising my kids to the best of my ability.  And even when I might falter, I’m teaching them that life isn’t perfect.  No, it’s far from perfect: it’s messy and complicated and vast and wonderful and full of extraordinary adventures.  Life is going to be what you make of it. 

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

There are few things that can disturb domestic bliss like having a bad neighbor.  An inconsiderate neighbor can aggravate one to the point of distraction.  I know this from first hand experience and now so does Wassachusetts.

Recently, Wassachusetts was forced to pick up sticks and move to a new stall in a different aisle of the barn.  He had been living in a stall nestled between his best buddy and field mate, an older, gray pony named Calvin:  The Good Neighbor.  The Good Neighbor might occasionally poke his nose over the dividing wall to say hello but otherwise kept to himself and his own business.

On the other side was a big, bay imported youngster named Chico:  The Bad Neighbor.  Over the past year, Wassachusetts and Chico bonded like schoolboys.  They were both young and green with a lot of energy but always seemed to have a calming effect on one another.   

I started to see indications of their dissolving friendship one afternoon while riding with Chico's owner.  We were standing in the middle of the ring exchanging a few words when I felt Wassachusetts’s body become tense and defensive, then his ears shot back and his nose jutted out as he pushed an intimidating look towards Chico.  In retort, Chico snaked his head at Wassachusetts and made a sudden move towards us.  Nothing happened, but the other rider and I quickly steered our horses back to the track. 

As the weather got colder, the two horses constantly teased and bickered with each other over the dividing wall separating their stalls.  The wooden slats were set apart in such a way that the horses could easily peek at each other between the boards.  I would sometime laugh at Chico as he would eyeball me adjusting blankets or giving Wassachusetts treats.  But that same eyeballing would throw Wassachusetts into an angry tantrum.

Within weeks, the behavior had escalated from charging at each other to the two horses rising on their hind legs up the side of the wall with mouths open, teeth bared and finally to rearing and lunging with such force that the wall would rattle and shake when their 1200 pound bodies launched against it.

One evening as I was setting up a grooming area, Wassachusetts flattened his ears against his head (a rare look for a horse with a reputation for being laid-back in the barn) and landed a powerful kick to his automatic watering trough, cracking the PVC piping.  I heard the soft hiss of water spraying and quickly rushed to turn the valve off.  I knew it was time to say something to my trainer.  

Yet, there stood Wassachusetts.  The moment had come and gone and he was once again calm and relaxed, quietly munching on hay.  He’d said his peace and  gone on with his life.  Unlike people, horses don’t waste time worrying about why a relationship doesn’t work out and they don’t hold grudges.   Wassachusetts simply acted like “it is what it is and life goes on.” 

Later that night, my trainer and I talked about the situation and explored the possibility of moving one of the horses to a different stall.  My biggest concern was that one of the horses could injure themselves if a board were to break, which would be particularly unfortunate if it were to happen in the middle of the night when no one was around (my thoughts were streaming a video of blood and gore – yes, this is the type of hysteria developed in the adult mind – well, at least mine and the other adult riders I know). 

The following day, Wassachusetts was moved to a new stall in the next aisle.  Even though it was located very close to our old stall, it still felt like we were moving to a new neighborhood. 

Our new stall is located in the back corner of the barn with only one shared wall.  Wassachusetts’s new neighbor is a sassy palomino pony with a thick neck and spiky mane.  So far, the two have shown little interest in one another, choosing to keep to themselves rather than interfere in their neighbor’s business.

I like that I can go into Wassachusetts’s stall and adjust a blanket strap without fear of being smushed against the dividing wall and that my horse doesn’t wear such a sour look on his face anymore. 

And the dividing wall?  Well it’s just perfect.  The boards are sturdy and fitted tightly together with no room for peek holes.  So, live and let live.  And if you can’t do that, get a good fence.  They really do make good neighbors.

Getting Acquainted

Bringing Wassachusetts home that crisp October day was, in my mind, a chance for new beginnings and an opportunity to have something just for me.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love being with my children and am grateful for having a wonderful family, but I was starting to feel a certain, unexplainable void in my life. 

I wasn’t sure what was causing me to feel unfulfilled.  Maybe it was the solitary feeling that seems to come with staying at home full time with little interaction with other adults or maybe it was the sobering thought of being in my 40s.  Regardless, I was losing a sense of my self-identity and it needed to be stopped.  

I thought about how taking on green horse would be a fantastic project where I would learn to be a better rider and after some hard work and perseverance, the end product of a well-trained horse would be a tangible reward.

Wassachusetts unloaded from the trailer that day like a pro and I proudly led my new horse to the barn ready to make those visions become a reality.  This was going to be great.  I could just feel it!

Yeah.  Well, not so fast.

Not only was Wassachusetts spastic over fences, but I soon discovered that he was a bolter and an occasional bucker.  I could logically understand the horse taking off after stinging his toes on a rail he’d pulled down or getting excited on the backside of a jump and letting out a little buck.   What I wasn’t prepared for was his spontaneous bolting or the times he would arch his back, tuck and wag his head like a mental patient then throw out a buck or threatening crow hop.  It was more than this 42-year old mother of two could take!  I’m nobody’s hero and, quite frankly, his behavior made me feel intimidated and afraid.

Deflated and feeling like a failure, I started to wonder how quickly I could sell him.

Amidst my whining and gnashing of teeth, in rode the cavalry.  My trainer, in her infinite wisdom, lent me helpful advice and the patience of a saint as Wassachusetts and I would careen around the ring at mock speed, the whites of his eyes flashing by in a virtual blur while his rider –that’s me - tried to curl up in the fetal position.   Over the sound of the blood pounding in my ears I would hear my trainer tell me to sit up or urge him forward or sometimes even a “Whee!” when there just wasn’t anything else to say. 

More than once, I had visions of abandoning riding and taking up tennis.  I also envisioned the huge glass of wine I would need at dinnertime later that night!

My trainer’s daughter, a woman I admire for her natural riding ability and fearlessness on horseback, picked up the reins – literally – and became Wassachusett’s private tutor. 

Surging forward and leaping upward, he would fight and test his new schoolmarm who would have none of his nonsense.  She took him to task each time until he begrudgingly submitted to her leadership.   She and her mother worked with him then worked with me.  

Most days, I tried to wear my big girl pants to ride, but there were times when I couldn’t hide my fear.  I was bitterly disappointed in myself for not being braver, for not being a better rider, for not having a bigger wallet to buy a more appropriate horse. 

Whine Whine Whine

Soon, the trees shed their flame-colored leaves and the gray skies of winter hung heavily over the farm.   My anxiety level started to rise as my trainer and her daughter packed up a few clients and headed to the horse shows in Florida. 

I’ll skip the winter – even though at the time it felt like it would never end.  In short, with the help of another sympathetic adult rider and a few sporadic visits home by my trainer, Wassachusetts and I muddled through the long cold season.   

With the spring thaw came the return of my snowbird trainer and her daughter.  Wassachusetts was a train wreck and I was a nervous wreck.   There were many days when he was just too much horse, and I would dismount with a lump in my throat and trudge back to the barn.

The summer was a little better but in spite of the ninety-degree weather, that horse of mine would find the energy to gallop with reckless abandon around the ring.  I found a little comfort in the fact that he would do this with the trainer’s daughter on occasion as well.  At least I didn’t have to take it personally.

By the end of the summer, I’d become more accustom to his bolting and was able to ride through a few episodes without feeling the need to vomit.  His brain didn’t switch off and go to the “dark place” as often, and he seemed to be more willing to face bigger training challenges.  One of our first big breakthroughs was jumping an oxer.  It wasn’t pretty, but he was brave and leapt over the questioningly positioned configuration of rails with little hesitation.

Not unlike giving birth, I’ve forgotten a lot of the pain and suffering that went into that first year of work.  I can tell you that Wassachusetts has blossomed into the horse I originally thought I was buying and, with the support of my trainer and her daughter – a dream team of immeasurable value – Wassachusetts and I debuted at our first horse show where not only did we put in a solid performance that we could be proud of, but we beat horses with better pedigrees and more training.

He hasn’t bucked or bolted for two months, and that’s saying something.  He’s also started jumping higher than I ever expected him to be capable.  He is attentive and really tries to complete whatever task or new exercise is presented to him. 

As we came to trust one another more, Wassachusetts started, slowly and cautiously, to let his personality poke through.  He’s proven himself to be smart and confident but also kind.  I could feel his anger and frustration subside this past fall.  He wasn’t nearly as, let’s say, opinionated in his efforts.  There’s no more rearing or head wagging when he gets frustrated or doesn’t want to perform a certain task like engaging from behind. 

We’ve both learned a lot over the past 16 months.  I’ve learned to be more patient with not only the horse but with myself.  It had been at least ten years since I’d worked with a green horse.  A lot had changed in my life over the past decade ranging from my home life to motherhood and other responsibilities, stresses and obligations that come with adulthood.  I also had changed physically.  I wasn’t going to be able to ride like I did when I was younger. 

Wassachusetts was being asked to change his way of thinking, too.  He had been trained to run so it seemed that whenever thing got difficult, confusing or scary, he escaped to his happy “go to” place and ran…and ran…and ran some more.   He also needed time for his muscles to develop in his back, hind-end, and neck for him to do his new job. 

 We stopped judging one another.  I had to stop thinking he wasn’t ever going to be as good as the warmbloods and other “fancier” horses and he had to stop thinking of me as a pushover.   Suddenly, I started to trust him more and, in turn, I was riding better.

But perhaps the most valuable lesson that first year was to give myself a break.  There were days when something was going on with the kids or I had too many things on my mind and I simply wasn’t focused enough to ride a green horse.  There were other days when Wassachusetts was in a foul mood – yes, even horses have bad days – so I needed to learn to slow down, breath and reevaluate the day’s lesson. 

Being at the barn strips me of my role as “mother” and “wife” and lets me just be “me.”  It’s the moment during the day when I remember who I am outside of those roles and, with a better sense of self, I can go home and be a better mom and wife.  The midlife crisis looms large, but I remind myself that a younger me would have been oblivious to the life lessons that have presented themselves during this time I’ve had working with Wassachusetts.  

My work with Wassachusetts is far from over.  No doubt I will have to remind myself of these earlier lessons as new experiences are layered on top of them.  But I think this just may be the ride of a lifetime.

The Start of a Bumpy Ride

 Before anyone asks, let me explain.  Wassachusetts is not a place or a thing – and forgive me those of you who are sticklers for grammar – but he is a who.  More accurately, he is a seven-year old, 16.2hh, bay Thoroughbred racetrack flunky.  At the tender age of five, this lovely athlete was at the end of his racing career having run eight times with one win (first place), one place (second place) and one show (third place).  Somehow Wassachusetts made his way from Massachusetts to a big hunter/jumper barn in Pennsylvania, where it would be explained to me that, while there wasn’t anything “wrong” with him, per se, he just didn’t “fit in with the program.”  More on that in a minute.

Meanwhile, I’d hit the wall and started to sink into the dregs of a mid-life crisis.   It had been nearly seven years since I’d quit my job at a Fortune 500 Company to stay at home to raise my kids and a year and a half since my freelance writing job with a regional magazine dissolved when the publication went belly up in the summer of 2009.  I laid down my pen in frustration after getting zero interest from magazine publishers I had queried for work and decided to hunker down and busy myself with childrearing while waiting – and hoping - for other opportunities to present themselves.

In a turn of events, I found myself shopping for a new horse last fall.  I have been riding almost all of my life.  My passion for and relationship with my horses has carried me through some of the best and darkest times of my life.

So, with a little talent and even less cash, I optimistically started searching for my next ride.  I was looking for something that not only fit my budget but that would be competitive at local horse shows.   Based on experience, I knew I’d be looking at an animal in a pretty plain wrapper, nothing fancy - imports from places like Germany or Holland, which are all the rage in the world of hunter/jumpers, would be out of the question – and with minimal training since, generally speaking, the more experience and training a horse has, the higher its price tag. 

My search soon became frustrating as I learned that to fill even that very basic order would cost me a tidy bundle and that the amount of cash I had to work with was laughable at best.

Luckily, I live in Pennsylvania: Land of the Retired Thoroughbred.  They were easy to come by and most would suit my budget but they were not necessarily the breed of choice for the hunter ring.

“Bah!”  I thought to myself, certain that I would unearth  a diamond in the rough that might not be fancy enough to do any rated shows (I’m not delusional, after all) but that would certainly pull a few decent ribbons at local shows.

After looking at a few horses, my search led me to a trainer who had a “cute” little Thoroughbred for sale.  When I arrived, the trainer led me through a barn brimming with gorgeous warmbloods with glossy coats and regal carriage.   I stood, star struck, as a groom led a muscled gray gelding down the barn aisle.  This horse had real presence and proudly sauntered down to his stall like a king.   A few of the impeccably dressed owners greeted me with smiles and friendly hellos as I was led to Walter’s stall, which, by the way, was situated in the last aisle in the very back corner of the barn. 

The washed up and rejected Walter peered at me through the bars of his stall. On the ground, he was polite and waited to be tacked up but was pretty devoid of any personality.  He wasn’t much of a ride.   His trot was jarring with his two front legs stabbing at the ground like two sewing machine needles. Jumping him was even less impressive as he lurched blindly over one fence and zigzagged down to the second fence which he launched himself over with room to spare leaving me clinging to the saddle with the tips of my knee caps.  He obviously didn’t have much training as a hunter, but I was anxious to buy something and start working towards horse showing.

A few dollars later, he was mine.  And so, our travels together have begun.